(er). Not old. OldER.

And not all of them are bad. I am firmly of the belief that one of the ways to gracefully grow old is to try and stay young at heart. Not necessarily in appearance (all you thirty somethings in the 80s retro clothes, take note!), although I have been guilty of foolishly trying to recreate my youthful fashion faux-pas (cowboy boots and short skirts, bright pink and blue eyeshadow together-- although black nail polish is simple timeless, dammit.)

My attempt at staying young today was roller skating with the Flowers.

Current Mood: happy
Current Music: something funky, with a beat and disco ball from the roller rink

Wow- two posts in two days? Don't fall off your chair, folks.

I will inundated later with school work to complete/grade (work does not stop for the Hallmark holiday), but I have a few quiet moments for now.
Mother's Day story, which I actually meant to post last week when it happened, but again with the time getting away from me/rough week defense...

Last Friday, I did a fund raiser activity at our school's Spring Concert. We sold single flowers for parents to give to their kids who were performing. (And we sold ALL of them, and made a small yet tidy sum.) My Elder Flower wanted to help Mommy sell flowers, so I took her with me that night (needless to say, she sold about two before getting bored, and thank god for students to amuse her.) We got McDonald's to eat, in the time crunch of dropping off Younger with Hubby and picking up soft pretzels (for another group fund raising, because the Pretzel Factory is right by my house) and the 15 dozen individually wrapped and ribboned carnations in buckets of water.

The McDonald's is right near my school, which is not in the best area of the city (though far from the worst, believe me.) As we pulled away, an older man called out to me from the doorway, and I stopped- all doors locked, my window only partially opened, and my foot ready to hit the gas pedal (I'm a little paranoid with the kids in the car; it's different-- and much less fearful-- when its just me.) He wanted money or food, said he hadn't eaten in two days. He was cleaned up, looked a little threadbare. My mother, bless her, as difficult as she could be at other times, always helped people out like that.

I know I could be being taken advantage of, but I go on the principle (somehow against my cynical nature) that no one would want to stand there and scam quarters liked that unless they really had to. And on the principle of pay it forward. God forbid that should ever be me or someone I loved in that situation, I would want someone to help them. My mother used to stress that you never know how someone ended up in a situation like that, and that it may not have been their fault. Especially if they were mentally ill (she lived through the emptying of the asylums and had been in one- briefly- herself.) Usually, she would go buy them food instead of giving them money, but I didn't want to take Elder out of the car to do so, so I fished for some money. I only had some change, but I gave it to him.

Elder, after we pulled away, wanted to know why I gave him him money.

I explained, amid some gathering tears, that my mommy had taught me to always help out if I could, and that the man had said he needed help to eat. So I helped. And she asked why. I explained that, while we aren't rich, we could afford to help him out without putting ourselves out, so we should. You should always help other people if you can. She accepted my explanation, and didn't seem to notice my tears.

Some days it is harder to accept than others that my Mom never got to meet my girls, and that they will never get to know her. That one was a harder day, but at least I can tell them about her. Right?

I miss my Mom.

Current Mood: melancholy

Elder Flower is a smart one-- too smart, I sometimes think. I had decided a while ago to try and nudge her to reading more difficult books, and tonight's bedtime just seemed like a perfect time. She's been in a good mood, I had some time, and she picked a chapter book on her own until I mentioned it was a chapter book and we couldn't finish it in one night. It was a Beverly Cleary book (called The Mouse and The Motorcycle) given to her for Christmas by Sarcasmom. This was the beginning of a negotiation.

I wasn't sure how long a chapter was; if I would count it as two books or one (long books count as two, or I'd never get out of her room at night.) The minute it might cost her a second book, coupled with the fact she didn't already know the story, she became stubborn.

Nope. She most definitely did not want to trade a book.

I was gun-ho enough to get her to try this that I said I'll read it in addition to her regular three books, just so she can see if she likes it. Because if she likes chapter books, we have an entire shelf of Illustrated Classics we could read, up on her top (unreachable) shelf. That fact caught her attention, and it got her an extra book, so she was suddenly gung-ho, too.

I thought she was getting a little bored in the middle of the chapter. At ten pages with only two illustrations, I thought she might. But she surprised me and stuck it out, able to discuss what we were reading about. Then I had a very embarrassing moment. I didn't let her see it, and I shouldn't have been embarrassed, but, well--

I have a degree in English. I'm a certified English teacher. I went to graduate school for English for a whole year before switching to teaching. And I didn't know the meaning of a word in a book written for fourth graders.

Antimacassar.

Never heard of it before. Had no clue. Sorta guessed from context-- and was on the right track, when I checked it, but I wasn't very sure I'd be right. Do you  know what it is? Here's the quote:

                          "I wouldn't mind a few mice," the boy said as he looked around the room at the high ceiling, the
                           knotty pine walls, the carpet so thread-bare that many of its roses had almost entirely faded, the
                           one chair with the antimacassar on its back, the washbasin and towel racks in the corner of the room."

I like the word. I liked it even more after I googled it. I think that this is a word Star would have liked. The wikipedia says it means....

( Read more... )

After our first pretty positive chapter book experience, I got to read an amazingly beautiful copy of The Firebird by Demi, a book I had bought her for Christmas but had not yet gotten a chance to read with her. She had read it the previous night with hubby, and already knew the whole damn thing. It was a really, really good version, too, as well as exquisitely illustrated. I highly recommend it to anyone who loves fairy tales.

I bet Star would have liked this book, too.

Current Mood: amused

The Blossoms. Not mine.

Seems that my plan to grow out Elder's hair, get rid of the bangs and be able to pull her hair back into one single pony tail, was not the plan for her. While SiIL was watching the girls for us, while I was having fun playing Guitar Hero, the Elder and her Cuz decided to cut hair.

Elder couldn't see, so she chopped her bangs REALLY REALLY SHORT so she could see okay. And chopped a lock here or there on the side as well.

And Cuz cut her own, before lopping off a hank of Younger's hair in the back.

Result? An hour trip to the little kids hair salon today, and two girls with very short bangs and bobs. Not that Younger doesn't look adorable, mind. Hubby said what a cute little Vulcan cut, so you can see it didn't bother him at all to chop off the girls' long hair. But Elder's- well, there was only so much you could do with the buzz-length bangs she left to work with. The poor hairdresser was a bit beside herself, trying to fix the mess. She did the best she could, really, and it looks nice, considering. But my poor little Eldest has never had short hair before. I am still getting used to it.

I almost cried at all the long  hair on the Barbie bike seat and floor.

Current Mood: disappointed

We can all tell that I’ve been thinking about the past a lot lately. It’s not just Star, or melancholy, honestly. As much as children are an affirmation of your role in the bigger world, they are also a magnet for re-examining your past. What you have learned in your life is what you pass on to your children. It’s natural to stop and wonder, do I really want to pass that bit of family culture on?

I used to think that there was a lot that I didn’t want to pass on. I didn’t have a terrible childhood- don’t think that- but I didn’t always get along with my parents and spent a great deal of time in silent rebellion. (Some would argue I am still rebelling, what with tattoos and piercings and purple hair. Sarcas-mom thinks so.) A great deal of my teenage years was spent picking my parents apart and vowing not to be like them. My father was a bit right- so I went to the far, tie-dyed left. My mother was a recovering alcoholic; I barely touched alcohol until my late twenties. Now that I have kids, I greatly appreciate how difficult it is to be a parent and a person who is happy with themselves. No one can be perfect, not matter how hard they try to be. (I keep repeating this to myself, and some day I will believe it about myself.) Some people manage better than others; my parents had their own problems in addition to me, and I was far from an easy child long before my black-clothes-only phase.

My parents did teach me some wonderful things. My mother taught me compassion and the value of family. She really put no pressure on me to pursue any particular path but let me wander until I found my own. My step-father taught me to believe in myself, even if others don’t. (He was little crazy, though, always tilting at corporate windmills while engaging in dozens of get rich quick schemes.) He taught me no one will hand you anything you haven’t worked for. My father taught me never to settle, to always work hard, and don’t be afraid to be smart. He also taught me the value of family, how to stand by them, even if they do something stupid. (Of course, he also taught me to harass them mercilessly as they make a mistake that I know will be a mistake. That side of the family is very loving but quite tough to get along with sometimes.)

Those are good things to pass on.

And I guess, in retrospect, there aren’t really that many bad things to forget. Even what wasn’t great made me who and what I am. And the things I thought were bad, I understand better now. For instance-

When I was about 5, my dad had a boat we used to take water skiing. I loved riding in the boat. It had the most hideously seventies orange indoor-outdoor carpeting in it, with tan seats, but I loved speeding along, wind in my face, hair flying, with my dad driving and my mom skiing behind us. She really liked waterskiing, and my mom was NOT athletic. The only person she trusted to drive (and even after they were divorced, she used to say this all the time) was my dad. One winter, my dad decided that I was old enough to learn to ski. And I was all for it, even though I hated swimming in lakes, bays, oceans, etc. Why, you ask? Because of my Jaws fears, for one.  And the uneasy feeling that I couldn’t touch the bottom, and if I did touch the bottom, there were all kinds of slimy/creepy feeling things on my legs that I couldn’t identify. So he bought me skis. I tried them on in the upstairs living room. I practiced standing in them, getting up from a crouching down position. And that summer, when we went to Beltzville Lake, he tossed them in and told me to go in, too.

I said no.

He was beside himself. And I responded the one way to guarantee to make him more stubborn- I cried. Bawled. Refused, hysterically. My mother said to leave me alone. My father threw me in. Calm down- I had on a life jacket and was well able to swim (I can’t remember NOT being able to swim.) But I cried more, wouldn’t do anything but float. Eventually he gave up and I got back in the boat, but he was not happy with me.

I held this against him for years.

Well, my eldest has made me consider borrowing his tactic. She refuses to put her face in the water in the pool. It’s been a three-year battle to get her to go into the damn pool and not cling to me like a frightened monkey. Even after swimming lessons. I so clearly understand his frustration, and think- I survived it. Surely she can. If I just toss her in, and get her face wet so she sees it won’t hurt her-

Then I had that scary moment when I realized- crap. I’m turning into my father?!?!?!?!

I owe him an apology when I go to see him this summer.

Current Mood: okay

I have insomnia gain. Fibro pain is annoying my body- nothing bad enough to make me cry or anything, but briefly painful and quite fucking annoying.

If you don't have it, it's hard to make someone understand a chronic pain condition like RA or fibro. I have a hard enough time acknowledging/understanding it, and I've got it. Talking to others on some boards has made me feel a little better about this, but I've had a couple of bad days this week and it really kills that good mood that I was in.

That's what I get for bragging about being happy and accepting my medical conditions.

There's a few different pains/problems with pains. First, there's just general stiffness. Most people have it, at least in the morning or after sitting still for too long. I have it constantly, even if I stretch. Then, there's this weird thing I've been having, where it's not pain, but actually a lack of sensitivity. I can tell if someone is touching my skin, but I don't really feel it in the muscles below. Well, I do- but not nearly as much as I should. Massage is a prime example of this. Muscle knots feel better having direct pressure applied to them, but I can't feel the know actually release, which I used to (that was my favorite part of the massage.) All my muscles are tight; if I twist at all a little funny, I'll get a muscle spasm and then a cramp I can't work out. I just have to suffer with it until it settles down to a tolerable level. Then, there's the feeling that you get from those Icy/Hot muscle creams. Well, I can't that feeling over random patches of muscle at completely random times, with no warning. Or pins and needles as well. Then there's just the dull ache- imagine how you feel after a really too-difficult workout, and then magnify it. (I am completely not an athletic or workout person, so I'm well acquainted with post-work out pain, and what's a normal pain for over extending myself.)

And there's no reason other than my screwed up immune system for all this pain.

No wonder some people don't accept that Fibro is a real condition. It sounds like I'm crazy. And I know it sounds like I'm crazy. Sometimes, I just feel crazy. It would be better than what it is- there are better meds for crazy people right now than Fibro, I swear. If I wasn't me, if I was just hearing a story about someone who had this pain, shit- I wouldn't believe them, either.

So that part of life sucks. Sorry for whining in public and all.

The other two parts of my life- the kids and writing- aren't going so well right now either. My eldest daughter is having some adjustment issues with having her older, better behaved, bossy cousin around. And since she's 4, she no longer naps- and she is hell on wheels when she's tired. We have had a couple of complete meltdowns and a bunch of tears. It's not fun.

Writing- I just finished one story that took a lot out of me, and the boards and such have been pretty quiet, so no inspiration there. I have bits and pieces of things just running all over my head. I don't know what to write down and what to try and remember anymore (I used to have more leeway with what I wrote down, when I had a better memory.) Everything just seems to bring to mind- how can I use this in a story? My almost 90 year old Grandfather has stage 4 Prostate cancer and Alzheimer's, and I'm thinking what I can use from his life to create a story modeled on the stubborn old coot. Granted, this particular instance might just be my way of avoiding dealing with the Old Man's mortality- but his crazy-ass life really would make a cool character.

I'm sick. It's a very alive feeling though. I keep trying to remember everything, to think about again later to find a way to use it. I do remember feeling like this in HS and points in college, when writing was a complete compulsion that I couldn't turn down. There was a point in time where I didn't know how NOT to write. I'm approaching that point again. Which is good-

I've just got a lot going on in my life at the same time, and it makes for a whirlwind in my mind. I hope I can do all this and write, come end of summer. I don't want to give this part of me up again to real life. I just don't.

***HAIR UPDATE***
By the by, my hair is now light lavender, all over (not just streaks) and that will be joined by darker purple streaks/highlights come 4th of July. The Kool-Aid wash sucked, and the pink just wasn't going to cut a trip to NM. So I took 3 kids to Sally's Beauty, got driven completely nuts, and bit the bullet and bought real purple dye. I'm not entirely happy with it (again) but it's livable now.

Current Mood: melancholy

Yesterday was a wash for me, speaking health-wise. I woke up in so much RA/Fibro pain that I pretty much sat on the sofa almost all day and randomly played on my computer. I couldn't even concentrate to write or do much productive work, unless it was something quick. My biggest project for the day was entering the wide wonderful world of IM-ing.

I am such a techno-virgin/prude. I know these things are out there- what the practical (and fun) applications can be- but I just haven't bothering using them myself. That would by why I was so late to the blogging world. I mean, Sarcasmo had her blog for years before I even thought about one.

What else did I want to say today? I started off with an agenda, and it's been absolutely shattered by my little charges. I'll try this again when they sleep, maybe.

Yeah- survived another day at home with the kids! And with hardly any tears, too (on both our parts.)

Plus, I have hope for my little Alexis P. Keaton. She chose Jimi Hendrix for dancing around the living room today.

Current Mood: accomplished

Man, the fuschia hair is NOT working. It doesn't look quite like I pictured it would, and that's my fault for trying to do it myself instead of asking someone for help. I thought it would lighten after a few days and being in the sun and washing it repeatedly. Nope. I don't know how I thought highlighting bright pink would be easier than dying it all red. I still missed roots and crap.I even tried an emergency Grape Kool-Aid wash last night; I left it on for three hours, soaked my hair thoroughly with hubby's help so nothing was missed, and the pink is still only slightly toned down. The rest of my dirty blond mess is barely dark, much less purple. I even found directions on-line on how to do it, and FOLLOWED them, dammit. How the hell did Rubber-Chicken-Necklace Girl in high school have rainbow hair all the time? And this pink is NOT going to be easily covered with another dye.

Plus, my 4 year old informed me that it was just wrong to dye my hair pink.

It was like stabbing her non-conformist mother in the heart. I even offered to streak her hair with the Kool-Aid color of her choice, and she shut me down flat. I fear for teen-age years. She's probably the female, two decades later version of Alex P. Keaton (dating myself, I know, but you, too, if you get the reference, so NAH!)

As I see it, I have two choices to dye it all this horrendous pink and then highlight and do the underneath layer with black- or try and get real purple dye and see if it covers.

Maybe the new tattoos will distract from the mess on top.

This is what I get for trying to relive my youth, huh?

Current Mood: quixotic

I have been getting some wonderful reviews and compliments on my recent burst of writing, and lot of new reviews on old stories, now that a new book has been released in the fandom. And I think I've finally got my mind around all the ideas that I've been tossing around for ten years about my my original novel- I know how I want to organize all the little ideas together. I've got some outlining done, lots of notes, etc. I even went to a local writing conference a few weeks ago (did I write about that here? End of the year fog...) and telling people (even in my family) about my blog and fan-fiction. I have even started describing myself as "writer" again. It's been a long time since I felt like that, probably since college, when I was churning out a poem a day. (Maybe I'll dig some out and post them here, or at least the ones that aren't too painful to see again.) It's like a little piece of me has been snapped into place. It's the same feeling I had when I found teaching.

And the same feeling when I had kids.

I'm probably the happiest I've been in a long time. I won't go into details- no pity party here- but, while I was happy all along, there was always something going on that pissed me off or upset me. And right now, I'm pretty mellow. The only thing that is going on that I'm NOT happy about is my health, which I think I am coming to terms with. It's taken four years for me to accept that my life will have limits that I don't set. Maybe I'm just maturing.

Of course, having said that, I dyed my hair bright fuschia last week.

Maybe it's not maturity.

Current Mood: happy

As a teacher, this is a great time of year. School is over!!! All the problem children who have pushed every button and tap-danced across my last nerve are gone, now. I teach seniors, and all but one has graduated. That one will attend summer school, and I will not be teaching it (my saying is, when asked if I am teaching summer school, that I put them there, I don't teach them there.) So this is a time for self-evaluation. Problem is, I am so tired and I have been doing this for so long (next fall will be my eighth year) that I am worried that I am stagnating. I think I am doing a good job. After all, the students generally don't fall asleep in class, and none of them outright say that there is no point to what I am teaching (any more.) I only failed 1 out of 125 students, which is much better than the 25-30% I used to fail. Only one student failed my mid-term or finals. Most students turned in their projects. Most students do their homework.

Is the fact that this year went so well because of my experience and ability to adapt work for my classes and students, or did I just have a particularly good group of students? I guess I will have to wait until this time next year to answer that, but I am nervous for the fall. I am teaching three subjects, one of them new, and- thanks to motherhood- have essentially no time to do work at home. Plus my health issues, which can complicate things at any time.

Well, I just need to ignore all that until August, because I am now home with my two difficult yet wonderful daughters, and my niece (who's a year older than my oldest) for the duration of the summer, save two weeks of vacation. I am planning on running my house like the pre-school my kids attend, because the eldest 1) loves it there, 2) likes to play Pre-school at Home, and 3) needs to be kept constantly busy to keep me sane. This is the first summer I will be home with them; normally I still have so much going on that they stay in day care year round. But trying to save money for private school tuition in a year is good motivation to try something new. Tomorrow, the eldest is helping me set up Pre-School at Home, and my niece won't be joining us until next week. I guess I can ease into it. Problem is, I teach high-school for a reason. Most parents are terrified of the teen-age years; I feel more comfortable dealing with teenagers than snotty-nosed, temper-tantruming, need-to-wipe-their-butts 0 through 5 year olds.

On the bright side, the eldest new hobby is board games like Candy Land and Hi-Ho Cherrio, so I may not have to dress up like a princess and dance and sing silly songs to keep her happy. The youngest is growing like a weed, and is much more of a terror than the eldest was at her age. Well, terror in a different way. The eldest was a drama queen, throwing  extended attention-grabbing temper tantrums every where and anywhere, the more public and embarrassing the better. This one is quiet, and intent, and mechanically inclined. Less than two, and she can turn the TV off and on and the volume up or down, on demand. At my aunt's house yesterday, she decided that the police scanner in the living room (off, now that my EMT cousin no longer EMTs or lives at home) was more fun than the toys. Anything that has buttons (like the blender in our kitchen) must be pushed. She even defeated child-proof cabinet locks!!!

All in all, the summer should be an experience. Hopefully, I will have time to write. Original fiction and finish up some fan-fic. I hope. I pray.

I'll try.

Current Mood: restless